things with wings

There was a beautiful blue sky earlier today, the kind that makes you wish you could just reach up and take flight, to soar with the white-winged gulls.

I’ve said before that I’m no good at taking pictures of birds, but I did manage to take pictures of some other things with wings in the wild park near where I live.

First, there were these pale green winged creatures, clustered together, clearly not yet ready to leave the nest.

Elsewhere, I found some of the same species, a little further developed; perhaps if it had been windier they would have been ready to fly.

These winged offspring of another species seemed even more mature; look how they have spread their wings to dry in the sunshine ready for their brief autumnal mating flight.

Finally, I’m sure this little one had wings and, for a moment, I thought she was about to use them, but although I watched her for a while, she continued her explorations on foot.

Although it’s a bit early in the year for the windwolf, the poem seems appropriate; it’s from my collection Around the Corner from Hope Street:

Windwolf

Lonely, the windwolf howls, and prowls
the city Sunday afternoon.

In a garden square he finds a little girl
with yellow hair tied in a ponytail. He sniffs
and snaps, gusting and billowing her skirt,
stinging her knees as pink as her hair ribbon.
She runs, arms outstretched, laughing,
spinning like a sycamore seed until
her mother calls her home.

He roams the streets, looking
for a new playmate. He shakes the trees,
but the sparrows simply fluff
and huddle closer.

The windwolf whistles
to keep his spirits up.

In a courtyard he sees a plastic carrier.
He plays at toss-and-chase until it’s torn
to shreds. Trapped, now, he hurls himself
against the walls as if he would buffet them
to the ground.

Through a window he spies
net curtains hanging primly.
What fun it would be to knot
and tangle them, snag lace butterflies
on invisible claws!

A green parrot dozes
in a cage. The windwolf yearns
for company. He longs to ruffle parrot plumes
and hear it squawk. He would love to have
a green feather to play with.
Just one
          small
                green
                       feather.


The casement rattles.